


The Last Five Years (Yuri)

by AuthorMAGrant



Series: Five Years [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Best Friends, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Multi, changes, inevitable otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-02 20:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorMAGrant/pseuds/AuthorMAGrant
Summary: A lot can happen in five years, including falling in love with your best friend.





	1. 17.

**17.**

 

Saturday nights were his favorite. Yuri was curled up on his bed instead of enjoying a “relaxing” night on the town with Mila and the rest of his rink mates. Thank God Otabek didn’t expect anything from him. These calls were the only times he could let his guard down.

“Still there?”

He blinked at Otabek’s question and refocused on his friend’s face. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“That bad of a day, huh?”

He scowled and dug his fingers a little too deep behind Potya’s ear. The poor cat gave a plaintive yowl and Yuri apologized and cooed until the creature was back in a good humor. When he finally braved another look at his screen, Otabek was smiling, but still waiting for his response. With no escape, Yuri admitted, “I feel like I’m five again. How the fuck can my balance change this much in a matter of weeks?”

It was safe to say these things to Otabek. Victor gave well-meaning speeches about how dealing with the fallout of growth spurts would get easier because he’d gone through it and managed to win championships at the same time, so Yuri had nothing to worry about. Katsudon would nod along with Victor, then pull Yuri aside to check and make sure he didn’t need more bath crystals to help soothe the continuous aching. Mila laughed and told him to complain when he grew boobs and had to adjust for _that_. Lillia pretended she didn’t ease up on his ballet training, which pissed him off to no end. Yakov said nothing; he merely grunted from the edge of the rink at every missed jump, every poorly executed spin combo, every awkward choreographic sequence.

Otabek just listened and nodded gravely. “It took me a full season to feel like I wasn’t inside someone else’s body.”

“It did?”

“You’ll be frustrated, but focus on why you skate. It helps to remember that on the bad days.”

“I haven’t won in months,” Yuri said, his throat tightening. “What … what if I’m never this good again?”

“Then we deal with it. Okay?”

 _We_.

“Yuri, did you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“So, do you want to hear this new mix I’m working on?”

After that, Yuri stopped worrying. Well, he stopped worrying as much, at least. He kept working, tried to find his roots, avoided the news every time he placed low in a competition. He talked to Katsudon about dealing with the pressure and the anxiety. He talked to Leo, who’d just gone through the same thing and was making a comeback. He talked to his grandpa, who reminded him sternly that there was no reason for Yuri to skate except his own love of the sport. He resentfully began to appreciate his Angels, who were rabidly supportive of every change in his life, no matter his competitive record.

Most of all, he talked to Otabek.

They joked about Yuri’s tutors. Otabek talked about his family. They planned pranks on Victor and Katsudon. Otabek shared stories of his time in Canada training with JJ, who Yuri still despised. It was easy and fun and kept him balanced while he tried to rebuild his career inside the rink.

And life continued.


	2. 18.

**18.**

Thursday nights were his favorite. Between their practice schedules, Otabek’s DJing gigs, and the weekly dinners Yuri had with Victor and Katsudon, Thursday was the only night when they could talk for any real length of time.

It wasn’t easy. Sometimes they fell asleep on the calls. Yuri had long given up trying to maintain a sense of dignity as he wiped drool from his face or tried to finger comb his hair back into some semblance of order when he came to. He fell asleep a lot more than Otabek, despite Almaty being three hours ahead of Saint Petersburg. The times his friend dozed off first were rare. Otabek was so contained and Yuri reveled in the knowledge that they were close enough that Otabek didn’t mind Yuri seeing him vulnerable. He never woke up quickly. He’d shift, then his breathing would change, then he’d slowly blink away that haze of sleep. But it was the slow, easy smile he gave when he realized Yuri was waiting for him that made Yuri happiest. He’d never had a real friend before Otabek and no matter how many friends he gained in the future, Otabek would always be his most precious.

Life had returned to normal. Yuri’s last season had been rough and he’d rarely placed higher than fifth in a competition. He didn’t mind. He’d taken Otabek’s advice and found himself again on the ice. It had hurt to discover he had forgotten the real reason he loved skating. He’d become so focused on perfection, on meeting others’ expectations, on proving himself, that he’d lost the fire that had kept him going when he was a junior. He was still adjusting to his new center of balance. He was still uncomfortable with his new height—a few inches taller than Otabek now—and felt gangly, even as he worked on reshaping his musculature for his new body. Some jumps were harder, others easier, and it was an interesting challenge to reclaim his place on the ice and the podium. Every win now was purer, harder fought, and he needed to thank Otabek for giving that joy back to him.

It was Thursday again. Tonight was even better though because instead of talking to Otabek through a screen, Yuri was waiting at the airport with his grandpa to pick him up. Otabek was skating in the competition next week and had convinced his coach to let him arrive in Moscow early. He’d train with Yuri and Yakov for a few days before returning to his normal pre-competition routine. Then they would face off against each other, which meant they’d both post personal bests and possibly break records. It was what they did, even more than Victor and Katsudon. When they met on the ice, the world held its collective breath.

Yuri could barely contain himself. He rapped his fingers against the phone in his pocket, tapped his foot against the floor, searched the people spilling from the international arrivals gate.

“Yurochka, stop fidgeting,” his grandpa ordered. “He’ll be here.”

“How long does it take to get through customs?” Yuri growled, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor.

He’d dressed up, like an idiot. He couldn’t even explain _why_ he’d cared. It’s not like Otabek gave a shit what he wore. For some reason, the ripped skinny jeans, leopard print sneakers, new tee shirt, and the black hoodie he’d stolen from Otabek two competitions ago, seemed appropriate. He kept the hood up, hiding his new haircut. Otabek hadn’t seen it yet and Yuri wanted it to be a surprise. He was curious how his friend would react. God, Lillia had freaked when he came home yesterday with it. But he was eighteen now and he was tired of his image. It was time to change some things.

Otabek would understand.

A dark head moved in the newest surge of people from the gate and Yuri stretched to his tiptoes. “He’s here!” he told his grandpa before rushing forward.

Otabek’s face, lined with exhaustion from the flight, lit up when he saw Yuri barreling toward him. He gave a rough bark of laughter and held out his arms, staggering a little when Yuri ran into him.

“Holy shit,” Otabek said against Yuri’s neck, “you really _did_ get taller.”

“I told you, asshole.” Yuri pulled back, incapable of hiding his shit-eater grin. No matter how much he had changed, Otabek seemed the same. Same height, same solid build, same stoicism. Except, when Otabek gave Yuri a second look, Yuri caught a flash of surprise on the man’s face.

“Nice sweatshirt.” Otabek shook his head. “I’ve been looking for that.”

“Want it back?”

“No. You keep it.”

Yuri wanted to duck his head, let his hair cover his flush, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Otabek must have realized that, because he sucked in a breath and reached up, tugging the hood back and exposing Yuri’s head fully.

“I … I wanted it shorter,” Yuri said lamely when Otabek just stood there, staring.

“It’s shorter.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, worried for the first time that maybe he’d made a mistake. “You think it looks bad?”

“I … No. Sorry. It’s just …” Otabek shook his head a little and reached up, carding his fingers through the fine blond mess. Yuri swayed a little and barely managed to keep himself from closing his eyes, the contact felt so good.

He’d gone with an edgier cut, one that gave him wiggle room for competitions, especially if he used product, but it was shorter than anything he’d ever had before. The Angels would die when they saw what he’d done. Judging by the look on Otabek’s face, they may not be the only ones.

“It looks good,” Otabek finally said. His hand dropped away and he smiled up at Yuri. “I was surprised is all. It makes you look older.”

Yuri grinned back. “Cool, huh?”

“Very cool.”

Yuri grabbed Otabek’s hand and began dragging him back toward the exit. “My grandpa’s here too. He wanted to meet you. We’ve got dinner planned already, but did you need to stop anywhere on the way home?”

Yuri introduced Otabek to his grandpa. They both looked unusually sober as they shook hands, but soon enough, Yuri had them both laughing and talking as they drove away from the airport. Every now and then as they sat in the back seat, Yuri would squeeze Otabek’s hand, amazed when his friend would squeeze back. It didn’t seem real that Otabek was here, now, with Yuri. But he was and Yuri had almost a full week before he’d leave.

Yep, Thursdays were the best day.


	3. 19.

**19.**

Wednesday night might be Yuri’s favorite night. The bass vibrated through his bones and Yuri lost himself in the swaying of the crowd. He wasn’t celebrating _his_ victory. Katsudon had taken gold again, his last, and had officially announced his retirement. Yuri had hid in the bathroom during the press conference while Otabek kept watch at the door. When he was done crying, Yuri washed off his face, and everyone headed to a club to celebrate one last time.

A few feet away, Victor and Katsudon danced together, lost in their own world. Victor and Chris, who had been one of the evening’s announcers, had tried to convince Katsudon to wear his medal. The idiot had just smiled and held up his hand, where the gold ring caught the light, and said that he was already wearing the only gold he’d ever need. Yuri had faked a gag, making Otabek laugh, and Pichit snapped a picture of them all before the dancing started in earnest.

Now, Yuri tried to lose himself in the music. Things were changing and there was nothing he could do about it.

Katsudon and Victor were going to move back to Hasetsu and coach there. JJ and Bella were expecting their first child, which meant that JJ was going to be taking some time off from the circuit for a while. As much as Yuri hated to admit it, JJ would make a decent dad. The rest of them were still competing, but there were new, younger skaters trying to break into their ranks. Yakov wasn’t sure how much longer he’d coach. Grandpa’s health wasn’t as good, so Yuri was spending more time with him.

He wanted to forget it all for a night. Wanted to let the music sweep him away. Wanted to pretend the world wasn’t transforming.

He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, the flashing lights sending spots over his vision. It wasn’t just everyone else who was changing. _He_ was changing. He just wasn’t sure how.

“Yuri?”

He glanced to his left. Otabek stood there, bottle of water in hand, familiar face set in that expression somewhere between amusement and resignation. Otabek. His one constant. Without thinking, Yuri smiled and the tension at the base of his skull eased.

“Want some?” his friend asked, extending the water bottle further.

Yuri accepted it and took a swig. When he tried to hand it back, Otabek shook his head. “Finish it,” the man called over the music. “I’ll get another one.”

He turned to leave and some strange instinct made Yuri reach out and snag hold of his jacket. “Dance with me.”

He didn’t expect Otabek to obey. Otabek never danced. Not with anyone. So when he turned and put his hands on Yuri’s waist, drawing him close, it felt like the earth had jarred to a stop and Yuri stumbled a bit. Otabek didn’t let him fall. Instead, he adjusted and soon they were moving together, in perfect sync, like they were practicing on the ice again even though there was nothing but the club and the dance floor and the crowd around them.

Yuri lost track of how many songs they listened to. His world had limited itself to beat and rhythm and Otabek’s body pressed against his and the terrifying, thrilling whisper that maybe what he felt for Otabek wasn’t just friendship … 

Maybe it was something bigger.

At one point, Otabek’s lips brushed his ear and Yuri couldn’t hear the question because he was too busy trying not to shiver from that touch.

They were friends. Yuri wanted to stay friends. Yuri wanted to become more.

Except, if he said that aloud, if he asked Otabek whether he felt this crackling awareness between them, it could end.

So he swallowed it down and laughed when the evening ended. He acted like it meant nothing more than any other time they hung out. He refused to read anything into Otabek’s gaze. He refused to let himself hope. 

And this loss burned sharper than all the rest.


	4. 20.

**20.**

There was a girl in Kazakhstan. Otabek’s parents introduced him to her. She was the daughter of family friends. They had played together as children.

At first, Yuri figured this conversation was Otabek’s attempt to distract him from the daily shitstorm in Moscow. Life had grown complicated. Yuri’s grandfather’s health had improved, but a few weeks ago, Yuri received news that his mother had passed away. It was strange that after all these years and all the neglect, her death still had an impact. Yuri kept his head down and worked harder. He got sponsorships. He won competition after competition. He talked to Otabek regularly, at least four times a week, sometimes more.

He never acted distracted when Otabek was only half-dressed, answering the call after a quick, post-practice shower, wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants or a towel. He never admitted that those images factored into his dreams more and more, until he saw them dancing behind his eyelids whenever they slipped shut. He never mentioned how desperately he wished they could visit each other again. He lapped up all the attention Otabek gave, trying to convince himself that _this_ was better than nothing.

There was a girl in Kazakhstan. She had dark hair and liked to cook. She made Otabek laugh. They were friends.

Victor and Katsudon called him weekly. They were considering adoption. They’d invited Yuri to spend time with them over the holidays. He was actually considering it. He missed all the people in that sleepy seaside town. The triplets had been spamming his Instagram with pictures of their pouting faces, begging him to come teach them more routines. He couldn’t agree to the trip yet. He and Otabek had talked about a trip of their own. Yuri had offered to go to Almaty, but Otabek wanted to get away from his home with a desperation Yuri had never seen before. He was thinking of visiting JJ, Bella, and their little girl Elizabeth. Phichit and Leo and Guang Hong had invited them both to join the trio on their tour of the western United States. Yuri didn’t care where they went, as long as he and Otabek were traveling together. Otabek promised he was figuring it out. He teased Yuri almost every day about making sure his passport was ready, as if they were going to up and leave on a moment’s notice. Yuri rolled his eyes and kept working.

There was a girl in Kazakhstan. She wore floral perfume and her lips were soft when she kissed Otabek and she came to watch him at practice sometimes.

Yuri told Mila, who talked to Sara, who told Yuri he had nothing to worry about. It didn’t ease his mind. But he was so busy, so focused on moving a little further in his career, on making his grandpa’s life a little easier, that he ignored his gut and tried not to listen when Otabek talked about her.

It was Monday when Otabek called. Yuri had just gotten home from practice. He winced as he pulled off his socks, and took a moment to inspect the newest blisters. When the phone rang, he answered because he hoped Otabek would be able to put him into a good mood.

“Beka, today’s practice sucked. Yakov was on my ass all afternoon.”

“Sounds rough.” So did Otabek’s voice. Not just rough. Exhausted. Wrung out.

A tingle spread down Yuri’s spine and he gripped the phone tighter to his ear. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing but a broken sigh from the other end of the line.

“Beka—?”

There was a girl in Kazakhstan. Otabek was going to marry her. Their families had decided.

Yuri couldn’t breathe. Otabek talked him through the panic attack. When it was over, Yuri exploded as he hadn’t since he was fifteen.

That call was the first time he and Otabek actually fought, real fighting with hurtful words and cruel taunts that drew blood because there were years’ worth of memories to pull from. For the first time, Otabek didn’t hold back. He took everything Yuri threw at him and hit back just as hard. He asked why Yuri wasn’t happy for him. He pushed and pressed and didn’t let up, even bring up that damn night at the club, asking why Yuri couldn’t talk to him _now_ when they’d been so close that night. Yuri didn’t have any answers. None he was willing to utter aloud, that is. Otabek pushed and pushed until Yuri hung up and threw his phone at the wall with all his might. It didn’t break, but the noise was loud enough that Yuri’s grandpa poked his head into his room and asked what was wrong.

The situation—and Yuri—came out.

His grandpa took it better than Yuri expected. But in the grand scheme of things, this probably wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever sprung on his grandpa before. Nikolai sat him down on the bed and explained, in no uncertain terms, that he would always support Yuri, no matter who he loved and where that love took him. And then his grandpa lectured him on doing the right thing. Yuri broke, sobbing into his pillow while his grandpa rubbed soothing circles on his back. He didn’t know what the right thing was anymore. If he admitted his feelings, he may humiliate himself. He may lose Otabek forever.

“Yurochka, if you leave this as it is, you _will_ lose him,” his grandpa murmured.

It took him three days to summon enough courage to call Otabek back. He expected to be sent to voicemail, but Otabek answered on the first ring and switched it to a video chat. He was sweaty, his hair plastered to his head, and he panted as he said, “I didn’t think you’d call.”

“I didn’t think I would either.”

Otabek was at practice. In the background, Yuri could hear his coach yelling, but Otabek ignored him. Those dark eyes pierced him, even with thousands of miles of distance between them. Yuri’s hand shook and he hated himself for being so weak.

“I—I’m sorry for what I said,” Yuri blurted out.

“So am I.”

“Can we … Beka, you’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose that.”

Otabek was silent for a long moment. Yuri had always been able to read him, subtle though the thoughts and emotions may have been. Now, Otabek was hidden from him.

“We’re still friends, Yuri. We fought. We forgive. It’s not so complicated.”

Yuri’s throat tightened. “Right.”

Noise from off-camera. A moment later, a feminine hand entered the frame, resting lightly on Otabek’s shoulder. Yuri could hear a woman’s voice asking, “Is this your Yuri?”

Otabek watched him, but nodded. A giggle from off-camera. “Can I say hi to him?”

Otabek waited for Yuri to nod before he passed off the phone.

There was a girl in Kazakhstan. She was beautiful and she was so happy to finally see Yuri after everything Otabek had told her about him. The television broadcasts didn’t do him justice. She was nervous about marrying the hero of Kazakhstan. She hoped Yuri wouldn’t mind if she called him from time to time when she didn’t understand things about the sport. She turned the phone so Yuri could watch Otabek skating at practice. She wanted to be friends with Yuri.

And, even if it broke his heart, he put on a good face and smiled and acted like this was everything he’d ever wanted in life because the reality was, all he wanted was for Otabek to be happy. If marrying this woman made him happy, that would be enough.

He and Otabek didn’t plan a trip. They still talked, but it was different now. Yakov noticed Yuri struggling. He tried to talk to Yuri. So did Lillia. It didn’t help, but Yuri appreciated the gesture anyway. He made them pirozkhi and lied when they asked him what was wrong.

On a Monday, Otabek and his fiancée called. She looked radiant. Otabek looked like himself, but a little more drawn, a little paler. The wedding date was set. It would be a week after the Grand Prix. Even though it was almost a year away, they wanted him to know. They wanted him to be there. Yuri promised he would be and they ended the call.

That night, Yuri bought a plane ticket.

He ran away to Hasetsu. When he landed in Japan and called Yakov to let him know, the old man didn’t even seem surprised. He muttered something about Vitya being a horrible influence and made Yuri promise to train at Ice Castle Hasetsu while he was away. Yuri settled in with Victor and Katsudon. Their presence was soothing in its own strange way. They never mentioned when they heard him crying in his room. They didn’t complain when he took Makkachin for runs or went to work at the rink early. They gave him space and support and every day Yuri worked to move a little further past his grief.

He and Otabek talked a few times a month. Each conversation leached away some of the pain. Yuri stopped skating like he was trying to wound the ice. He stopped skating like his life had ended.

Victor urged him to create his own free skate program. Katsudon took him to funny little music shops so he could search for the right song. Nothing seemed to fit. It took him almost a month to ask Otabek to send him something. As he’d expected, the song was perfect.

Yuri kept his head down and worked harder. He had a plan. He had a goal and nothing would keep him from it. He finally understood Katsudon’s first season with Victor and could chuckle at the irony that the two men he’d once thought he hated were now holding him together so he didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces. He got better, at skating and at loving. There was no point lying about that now. This was love and it fucking sucked, but he was the ice tiger of Russia and he’d be damned if he didn’t take full advantage of these feelings.

His season went well, especially once he moved back to Saint Petersburg and Yakov’s watchful eye. He was consistently in the top two at competitions. Otabek struggled, except when he and Yuri faced off. Then the audience would roar when Yuri screamed, “Davai!” at him from the stands and he would shine brighter than the sun. They didn’t go out together after competitions, but Yuri didn’t feel the knife in his chest anymore whenever he looked at Otabek.

He made the top six for the Grand Prix. Otabek didn’t and returned home to Almaty, to his rink and the woman he was due to marry in a few short weeks.

Yuri accepted that he needed to tell Otabek the truth. He was a selfish bastard, but he wouldn’t make demands or set ultimatums for his best friend. He wouldn’t destroy the chance for happiness Otabek had been brave enough to seize. He called Otabek on a Monday.

Otabek was at the rink again. He’d been there more and more, even though his season was over. He still looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes overshadowed the happiness that flashed over his features when he answered his phone. “Yuri. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. How’s the wedding planning?”

Otabek made a face and Yuri laughed. It hung there between them for a moment, a strange, light-hearted sound they hadn’t shared in months. And like that, Otabek’s shoulders dropped and the tension vanished from around his eyes and mouth.

“Eloping would be much easier,” he said.

Yuri laughed again. “All you need is a passport.”

Otabek nodded, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We still have a trip to take someday.”

Yuri was strong enough now that he could nod and agree, “Someday,” and actually mean it.

“What did you need?”

He swallowed and tried to keep his voice light. “Are you going to watch the Grand Prix final?”

Otabek frowned. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss you winning it again.”

“Good. I just wanted to make sure.”

“Yuri—” Otabek’s voice dropped, sweet and low and so familiar Yuri wanted to close his eyes and pretend like the last year hadn’t happened. “Never doubt that.”

“Okay,” Yuri whispered.

They talked after that, an easy conversation that reminded Yuri of their younger days. They joked, they teased, and when they finally had to move along with their days, it was on the promise of talking again soon.

“Yuri,” Otabek said, just before Yuri ended the call.

“Huh?”

His friend’s mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out. Otabek shook his head and a half-smile crossed his face.

“What?” Yuri asked.

“I miss you.” He said it so simply, Yuri had no defenses left.

His throat ached around the words and his eyes burned. “I miss you, too. Make sure you watch the free skate.”

“I promise.”

This time when he hung up, Yuri didn’t throw his phone. He headed back to the rink instead and ran through his free program again. His entire career, he’d taken risks. He’d evolved. He’d become fearless. And all that training was about to pay off.


	5. 21.

21.

 

It took forever to escape the hug. Victor said it was the most beautiful performance he’d ever watched. Katsudon tried subtly to wipe tears from his eyes and failed miserably. They kept laughing and crying with Yuri as they tried to send him to the kiss-and-cry. Lillia, with mascara starting to run despite its waterproof promise, kissed his forehead and excused herself from the arena before she lost control completely. Only Yakov was unimpressed. He glowed bright red and screamed at Yuri the entire time they sat and waited for the scores, but Yuri knew the bluster was only because he’d scared the hell out of the old man. Someday, he’d probably give his coach a heart attack.

“A quad axel, Yuri?” Yakov spat for the hundredth time, glaring at the judges as if it was somehow their fault. “You could have broken an ankle. You could have blown out your knee. You could have ended your career. Why do you do this to me? And why could you land a quad axel when you missed that rotation on the triple Lutz?”

He only half-heard Yakov’s complaints. The cheers from the crowd drowned out almost everything anyway. He didn’t dare admit the truth; the landing had hurt. He’d be sorer tomorrow than he’d ever been in his life, might even have sprained something, but the high from landing that jump correctly, from landing it _tonight_ , of all nights, outweighed the pain he’d suffer over the next few days.

The announcer’s voice sounded and the crowd went dead quiet. When the scores were shared, the world exploded. The swelling roar shook through Yuri’s spine, his jaw, his ribs. Personal best. World record, beating out Otabek Altin. Another gold medal secured, this time by such a wide margin it was almost unbelievable.

He couldn’t see. The tears dripping down his cheeks and blurring his vision made it impossible to recognize anything but the vaguest shapes and colors. At his side, Yakov had fallen into a grumpy silence, even as his arm wrapped around Yuri’s shoulder and patted him while he sobbed.

He had done it. A perfect performance. A perfect replication of what was in his head and heart. And now everyone knew. A weight he’d been carrying for months lifted.

Yakov helped him up, watching him carefully for signs of how badly he’d landed. Yuri didn’t care. He’d deal with that lecture tomorrow. Phichit and Michele and he took to the podium. The medal around his neck weighed him down, even as his thoughts drifted far away from the arena.

And somehow, through the camera flashes and the cheers and the congratulatory back pats and the insanity of the moment, he heard, impossibly, a voice familiar as his own calling his name. He thought he’d imagined the hoarse yell of “Davai!” when he’d skated to the middle of the rink before his free skate began. After so many years of hearing it, his mind must have played a trick on him. But it hadn’t. Wasn’t now either.

Otabek stood at the edge of the rink, his hands clasped so tightly along the edge of the wall his knuckles turned white. Otabek, who was only ever comfortable if he were hidden in a dark corner, safe from cameras and crowds and fans, leaned so far forward toward the ice Yuri worried he’d start climbing _over_ the wall. Otabek, who hated all forms of social media with a burning passion, didn’t even notice all the Angels snapping his picture, recording this moment, documenting every second. Otabek, his best friend, looking like hell with mussed hair and tear tracks down his cheeks and a _smile_ directed only at Yuri, blinding him and urging him to skate across the ice, even if his knee protested the movement.

“What are you doing here?” Yuri yelled, searching the stands for the girl from Kazakhstan.

“I promised I’d watch.”

“From Almaty, you idiot! You have shit to do there—” He intended to list off all the wedding preparations he was positive Otabek had forgotten about, but by that point, he’d reached the wall and Otabek was holding out a hand and Yuri would be an idiot not to thread his fingers through Otabek’s because, _dammit_ , he had missed this.

He was not at all prepared for Otabek to use their clasped hands to drag him forward. For the top of the wall to bite in against his stomach from the force of the movement. For that moment of panic as his balance shifted, as he scrambled to grab the wall to steady himself. For Otabek’s free hand to tighten around the back of his neck. For those lips he’d dreamed of for years to crash into his. For the sweet, raw need of that contact. For the triumphant lion’s roar rumbling out of his chest because _this_ was a revelation. A revolution.

And, because he loved Otabek, when they broke apart, the first thing he blurted out was, “Wait, you’re—”

“Not getting married.”

_Impossible. Too good to be true._ “She—”

“Was the one who told me to come here and try.”

“But—”

Otabek’s grip tightened. “I hoped. I hoped like never before because this was my last chance.”

“So—”

“I want to stay. God, Yura …” His voice broke and Yuri leaned down so he could press their foreheads together, unable to look away from the pain and nervousness in that dark gaze. “Let me stay.”

He was crying again, leaking against his will and better sense. Hugging Otabek and whispering _Yes_ over and over because what else could he possibly say to his best friend? He didn’t know how they made it to the privacy of the athlete’s area in the rear of the arena with Otabek balancing a hobbling Yuri on one side and a heavy duffel bag on the other. Some reporter tactfully abandoned one of the side rooms and murmured for Otabek to use it, then closed the door behind them, shutting them away from the rest of the world.

Otabek dropped his bag and helped Yuri to a chair. He hissed when he sat and Otabek knelt at his side, concern growing when Yuri tried to move his knee to a more comfortable position.

“Do you need a medic?” he asked.

“No. They’d kick you out.”

“Yura—”

He ran a hand through Otabek’s hair, ticking that secret wish off a list of things he’d wanted to do for years. “Shut up. You can help me ice it later tonight. But I need to know …” He trailed off, suddenly afraid. It had been easy to skate all of this, but saying it was harder.

Otabek understood. Of course he understood. He gave up kneeling and sat at Yuri’s side instead, resting his head against Yuri’s thigh so they didn’t have to look at each other as they talked. He told Yuri the whole story. How they’d been friends and then, one night after a competition, he’d had the horrifying realization that he wanted to be more. About his decision to wait and see if Yuri felt the same way because springing that on him when he was so young seemed selfish. About the tiny shreds of hope he sometimes saw that made all the pain of unrequited love worth it.

He admitted that the night of Katsudon’s retirement, he thought that maybe, _finally_ , Yuri would love him back. He’d returned to Kazakhstan heartbroken and confused because _nothing_ had changed. He’d agreed to the arranged marriage because at least then he’d be forced to move on. He unexpectedly become friends with that girl and somehow lost Yuri in the process. His world fell apart and he didn’t know how to put it back together. He got angry. He got depressed. He avoided the ice because it hurt too much to think about Yuri skating without him, skating for someone other than him. He went through the motions of the life he’d placidly accepted, hating himself for the hypocrisy of once telling Yuri to fight for what he wanted while he watched himself drowning alive.

The girl in Kazakhstan saw him changing. She worried about him. She hadn’t wanted to get married either, but Otabek was kind and supported her dream of going to medical school in Europe and maybe they could learn to love each other. Except, one night she came by his apartment without warning and found him watching one of the competitions, drunk and hurting and enthralled with Yuri’s performance, wearing an expression she knew he’d never direct at her.

She broke off their engagement. She held him while he cried and she made him promise to fix this. To find Yuri and _try_ because if he didn’t, she’d be forced to watch him killing himself day by day and he was too good a friend for that. She supervised as he bought a one-way ticket and packed his duffel bag. She called his coach and explained everything and assured Otabek that once he knew where he’d be living, he and his coach would work out their next steps. She stood by him when they faced their parents. She let him move in when his apartment rental expired and his parents asked for time to process everything and didn't want him living with them. She drove him to the airport. And now he was here.

“Oh, my God,” Yuri breathed, “someday you’re going to introduce us and I am going to kiss the _fuck_ out of that girl.”

Otabek chuckled, genuine, but soggy with unshed tears. “She’d probably let you.” He tilted his head, staring up at Yuri, expression a mixture of awe and shy joy. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”

“Neither can I.”

Yuri tried to lean down to kiss him, but his knee twinged. He sucked in a breath and winced. “I think it’s time to go. Ice is good.”

“Idiot,” Otabek said fondly, rising to grab his bag and help Yuri to his feet. “A quad axel?”

“Don’t you start, too. Yakov has that covered. Besides, it was a necessary element of my program.”

“Was it?”

“Obviously.” Yuri stumbled and Otabek caught him before he slammed into a wall. He scowled and tried to right himself.

It took more effort than expected, but they made it out of the room. By now, all the reporters had fled, off to write up their stories and prep their pictures. Yuri pointed to a hall. “If we go down there, it’ll connect to the parking garage for the hotel.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Otabek grunted as they began the slow walk back. “What about your stuff?”

“Lillia said she would get it for me. She didn’t want anyone to see her crying.”

“I cried,” Otabek grumbled.

Yuri caught the admission and grinned. “Good. _You_ were supposed to. It was a wedding present, after all.”

That made Otabek laugh and Yuri’s heart pounded because it was like old times again. “Your wedding present was to break my world record in the free skate?”

“I didn’t know what else to get you.” He risked a sideways glance and found Otabek watching him. “So I figured I’d give you the truth.”

This time, when his knee went out from under him, it was Otabek’s fault for kissing him like he was as necessary to life as air. And when Otabek pulled away and caught Yuri’s chin in his hand and gave him that rare, painfully beautiful smile, Yuri knew Otabek had understood his program.

He swallowed hard. One more risk. He could afford one more risk. “It _was_  the truth, Beka. Every second of it.”

“I know.” Otabek smiled and urged Yuri forward again.

He didn’t speak again until they were back in the hotel, safe in Yuri’s room with a bag of ice over his knee and a medic on the way up. Only then did he curl up at Yuri’s side, head resting in the crook of Yuri’s neck, arm draped over his chest, and whisper the words Yuri had never allowed himself to dream of.

“I love you too, Yura.”


End file.
